The Tomb

by F. Paul Wilson

  With a trembling hand, Kusum reversed the elevator.

  That man! That thrice-cursed American! How had he done it? If only the rakoshi could speak! Not only had Jack escaped with Kolabati, he had killed a rakosh in the process. Kusum felt as if he had lost a part of himself.

  As soon as the elevator reached the top, he scrambled onto the deck and rushed back to the pilot’s quarters. Something he had seen on the floor there …

  Yes! Here it was, near the hole in the floor, a shirt—the shirt Jack had been wearing when Kusum had last seen him. He picked it up. It was still damp with sweat.

  He had planned to let Jack live, but all that was changed now. Kusum had known Jack was resourceful, but had never dreamed him capable of escaping through the midst of a nest of rakoshi. The man had gone too far tonight. And he was too dangerous to be allowed to roam free with what he knew.

  Jack would have to die.

  He could not deny a trace of regret in the decision, yet Kusum was sure Jack had good karma and would shortly be reincarnated into a life of quality.

  A slow smile stretched Kusum’s thin lips as he hefted the sweaty shirt in his hand. The Mother rakosh would do it, and Kusum already had a plan for her. The irony of it was delicious.

  16

  “I have to wash up,” Jack said, indicating his injured hand as they entered his apartment. “Come into the bathroom with me.”

  Kolabati looked at him blankly. “What?”

  “Follow me.”

  Wordlessly, she complied. As he began to wash the dirt and clotted blood from the gash, he watched her in the mirror over the sink. The merciless light of the bathroom made her face pale and haggard. His own looked ghoulish.

  “Why would Kusum want to send his rakoshi after a little girl?”

  She seemed to come out of her fugue. Her eyes cleared. “A little girl?”

  “Seven years old.”

  Her hand covered her mouth. “Is she a Westphalen?” she said between her fingers.

  Jack stood numb and cold in the epiphany.

  That’s it! My God, that’s the link! Nellie, Grace, and Vicky—all Westphalens!

  “Yes.” He turned to face her. “The last Westphalen in America, I believe. But why the Westphalens?”

  Kolabati leaned against the sink and stared at the wall. She spoke slowly, carefully, as if measuring every word.

  “A century and a half ago, Captain Sir Albert Westphalen pillaged a temple in the hills of northern Bengal—the temple I told you about last night. He murdered the high priest and priestess along with all their acolytes, and burned the temple to the ground. The jewels he stole became the basis of the Westphalen fortune.

  “Before she died, the priestess laid a curse upon Westphalen, saying that his line would end in blood and pain at the hands of the rakoshi. The captain thought he’d killed everyone in the temple but he was wrong. A child escaped the fire. The eldest son was mortally wounded, but before he died he made his younger brother vow to see that their mother’s curse was carried out. A single female rakosh egg—you saw the shell in Kusum’s apartment—was found in the caves beneath the ruins of the temple. That egg and the vow of vengeance have been handed down from generation to generation. It became a family ceremony. No one took it seriously—until Kusum.”

  Jack stared at Kolabati in disbelief. She was telling him that Grace and Nellie’s deaths and Vicky’s danger were all the result of a family curse begun in India over a century ago. She was not looking at him. Was she telling the truth? Why not? It was far less fantastic than much of what had happened to him today.

  “You’ve got to save that little girl,” Kolabati said, finally looking up and meeting his eyes.

  “I already have.” He dried his hand and began rubbing some Neosporin ointment into the wound. “Neither your brother nor his monsters will find her tonight. And by tomorrow he’ll be gone.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You told me so an hour ago.”

  She shook her head, very slowly, very definitely. “Oh, no. He may leave without me, but he will never leave without that little Westphalen girl. And…” she paused … “you’ve earned his undying enmity by freeing me from his ship.”

  “‘Undying enmity’ is a bit much, isn’t it?”

  “Not where Kusum is concerned.”

  “What is it with your brother?” Jack placed a couple of four-by-four gauze pads in his palm and began to wrap it with tape. “I mean, didn’t any of the previous generations try to kill off the Westphalens?”

  Kolabati shook her head.

  “What made Kusum decide to take it all so seriously?”

  “Kusum has problems—”

  “You’re telling me!”

  “You don’t understand. When he was twenty he took a vow of Brahmacharya—a vow of lifelong chastity. He held to that vow and remained a steadfast Brahmachari for many years.” Her gaze wavered and wandered back to the wall. “But then he broke that vow. To this day he’s never forgiven himself. I told you the other night about his growing following of Hindu purists in India. Kusum doesn’t feel he has a right to be their leader until he has purified his karma. Everything he has done here in New York has been to atone for desecrating his vow of Brahmacharya.”

  Suddenly furious, Jack hurled the roll of adhesive tape against the wall.

  “That’s it? Kusum has killed Nellie and Grace and who knows how many winos, all because he got laid? Give me a break!”

  “It’s true!”

  “There’s got to be more to it than that!”

  Kolabati still wasn’t looking at him. “You’ve got to understand Kusum—”

  “No, I don’t! All I have to understand is that he’s trying to kill a little girl I happen to love very much. Kusum’s got a problem all right: me!”

  “He’s trying to cleanse his karma.”

  “Don’t tell me about karma. I heard enough about karma from your brother last night. He’s a mad dog!”

  Kolabati turned on him, her eyes flashing. “Don’t say that!”

  “Can you honestly deny it?”

  “No! But don’t say that about him! Only I can say it!”

  Jack could understand that. He nodded. “Okay. I’ll just think it.”

  She started to turn to leave the bathroom but Jack gently pulled her back. He wanted very badly to get to the phone and check on Vicky, but he needed the answer to one more question.

  “What happened to you in the hold? What did I say back there to shock you so?”

  Kolabati’s shoulders slumped, her head tilted to the side. Silent sobs caused small quakes at first but soon grew strong enough to wrack her whole body. She closed her eyes and began to cry.

  Jack had never imagined the possibility of Kolabati reduced to tears. She’d always seemed so self-possessed, so worldly. Yet here she was standing before him and crying like a child. Her anguish touched him. He took her in his arms.

  “Tell me about it.”

  She cried for a while longer, then she began to talk, keeping her face buried against his shoulder as she spoke.

  “Remember how I said these rakoshi were smaller and paler than they should be? And how shocked I was that they could speak?”

  Jack nodded against her hair. “Yes.”

  “Now I understand why. Kusum lied to me again! And again I believed him. But this is so much worse than a lie. I never thought even Kusum would go that far!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Kusum lied about finding a male egg!” A hysterical edge was creeping onto her voice. Jack pushed her to arm’s length. Her face was tortured. He wanted to shake her but didn’t.

  “Talk sense!”

  “Kaka-ji is Bengali for ‘father’!”

  “So?”

  Kolabati only stared at him.

  “Oh, jeez!”

  17

  They sat in the front room. Jack’s mind still reeled from the idea of Kusum impregnating the Mother rakosh. Visions of the
act half formed in his brain and then quickly faded to merciful black.

  “How could your brother have fathered those rakoshi? Kaka-ji has to be a title of respect or something like that.”

  Kolabati shook her head slowly, sadly. She appeared emotionally and physically drained. “No. It’s true. The changes in the younglings are evidence enough.”

  “But how?”

  “Probably when she was very young and docile. He needed only one brood from her. From there on the rakoshi would mate with each other and bring the nest to full size.”

  “I can’t believe it. Why would he even try?”

  “Kusum…” her voice faltered, “Kusum sometimes thinks Kali speaks to him in dreams. He may believe she told him to mate with the female. Hindu folklore is full of tales of raksasha—mythical creatures inspired by the very real rakoshi—dark tales of them mating with humans.”

  “Tales! I’m not talking about tales! This is real life. I don’t know much about biology but I know cross-species fertilization doesn’t work!”

  “But the rakoshi aren’t a different species, Jack. As I told you last night, legend has it that the ancient evil gods—the Old Ones—created the rakoshi as obscene parodies of humanity. They took a man and a woman and reshaped them in their image—into rakoshi. That means that somewhere far, far up the line there’s a common ancestor between human and rakosh.” She gripped Jack’s arms. “You’ve got to stop him, Jack!”

  “I could have stopped him last night,” he said, remembering how he’d sighted down the barrel of the Glock at the space between Kusum’s eyes. “Could have killed him.”

  “It’s not necessary to kill him to stop him.”

  “I don’t see any other way.”

  “There is: his necklace. Take it from him and he will lose his hold on the rakoshi.”

  Jack smiled ruefully. “Sort of like the mice deciding to bell the cat, isn’t it?”

  “No. You can do it. You are his equal … in more ways than you know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why didn’t you shoot Kusum when you had the chance?”

  “Worried about you I guess, and … I don’t know … couldn’t pull the trigger.” Jack had wondered about the answer to that question, too.

  Kolabati came close and leaned against his chest. “That’s because Kusum’s like you and you’re like him.”

  Resentment flared like a torch. “That’s crazy!”

  “Not really,” she said, her smile seductive. “You’re carved from the same stone. Kusum is you—gone mad.”

  Jack didn’t want to hear that. The idea repulsed him … frightened him. He changed the subject.

  “If he comes tonight, will he be alone or will he bring some rakoshi?”

  “It depends,” she said, moving closer. “If he wants to take me with him, he’ll have to come in person, because a rakosh will never find me. If he wants only to even the score with you for stealing me away from under his nose, he’ll send the Mother rakosh.”

  Jack swallowed, his throat going dry at the memory of her.

  “Swell.”

  She kissed him. “But that won’t be for a while. I’m going to shower. Why don’t you come in with me? We both need one.”

  “You go ahead,” he said, gently releasing himself from her. He did not meet her gaze. “Someone has to stay on guard. I’ll shower after you.”

  She studied him a moment with her dark eyes, then turned and walked toward the bathroom. Jack watched until the door closed behind her, then let out a long sigh. He felt no desire for her tonight. Was it because of Sunday night with Gia? It had been different when Gia was rejecting him. But now …

  He was going to have to cool it with Kolabati. No more rolls in her Kama Sutra hay. But he had to tread softly here. He had enough trouble without adding the wrath of a scorned Indian woman.

  He went to the secretary and removed the silenced Glock with the pre-frag hollow points; he also took out a snub-nose Smith & Wesson .38 Chief Special and loaded it. Then he sat down to wait for Kolabati.

  18

  Kolabati blotted herself dry, wrapped the towel around her, and came out into the hall. She found Jack sitting on the bed—just where she wanted him. Desire surged at the sight of him.

  She needed a man right now, someone to lie beside her, to help her lose herself in sensation and wash away all thought. And of all the men she knew, she needed Jack the most. He’d pulled her from Kusum’s clutches, something no man she’d ever known could have done. She wanted Jack very much right now.

  She dropped the towel and fell onto the bed beside him.

  “Come,” she said, caressing his inner thigh. “Lie down with me. We’ll find a way to forget what we’ve been through tonight.”

  “We can’t forget,” he said, pulling away. “Not if he’s coming after us.”

  “We have time, I’m sure.” She wanted him so. “Come.”

  Jack held his hand out to her. She thought it was an invitation to pull him down and she reached up. But his hand was not empty.

  “Take it,” he said, placing something cold and heavy in her palm.

  “A gun?” The sight of it jolted her. She’d never held one before … so heavy. The dark blue of its finish glinted in the subdued light of the bedroom. “What for? This won’t stop a rakosh.”

  “Maybe not. I’ve yet to be convinced of that. But I’m not giving it to you for protection against rakoshi.”

  Kolabati pulled her eyes away from the weapon in her hand to look at him.

  “Then what…?” His grim expression provided a chilling answer to her question. “Oh, Jack. I don’t know if I could.”

  “You don’t have to worry about it now. It may never come to that. On the other hand it may come down to a choice between being dragged off to that ship again or shooting your brother. It’s a decision you’ll have to make at the time.”

  She looked back at the gun, hating it and yet fascinated by it—much the same as she’d felt when Kusum had given her that first look into the ship’s hold last night.

  “But I’ve never…”

  “It’s double-action: You’ve got to cock it before you can fire.” He showed her how. “You’ve got five shots.”

  He began to undress and Kolabati put the gun aside as she watched him, thinking he was about to join her on the bed. Instead he went to the bureau. When he turned to face her again he had fresh underwear in one hand and in the other a long-barreled pistol that dwarfed hers.

  “I’m taking a shower,” he said. “Stay alert and use that”—he gestured to her pistol on the nightstand—“if you have to. Don’t start thinking of ways to get your brother’s necklace. Shoot first, then worry about the necklace.”

  He stepped out into the hall and soon she heard the shower running.

  Kolabati laid back and pulled the sheet over her. She moved her legs, spreading and closing them, enjoying the touch of the sheets on her skin. She needed Jack very much tonight. But he seemed so distant, immune to her nakedness.

  Another woman. Kolabati had sensed her presence in Jack the very first night they met. Was it the attractive blonde she’d seen him talking to at the UK reception? It had not concerned her then because the influence had been so weak. Now it was strong.

  No matter. She knew how to have her way with a man, knew ways to make him forget the other women in his life. She’d make Jack want her and only her. She had to, for Jack was important to her. She wanted him beside her always.

  Always …

  She fingered her necklace.

  She thought of Kusum and looked at the pistol on the nightstand. Could she shoot her brother if he came in now?

  Yes. Most definitely, yes. Twenty-four hours ago her answer would have been different. Now … the loathing crawled up from her stomach to her throat …

  Kaka-ji! … the rakoshi called her brother Kaka-ji!

  Yes, she could pull the trigger. Knowing the level of depravity to which he’d sunk, knowing
that his sanity was irredeemable. She could almost look on killing Kusum as an act of compassion, done to save him from any further acts of self-degradation. More than anything she wanted his necklace. Possessing it would end his threat to her forever, and allow her to clasp it about the throat of the only man worthy to spend the rest of his days with her—Jack.

  She closed her eyes and nestled her head deeper into the pillow.

  Tired … she’d had only a few minutes of fitful slumber on that wafer-thin mattress in the pilot’s cabin last night. She’d close her eyes for just a few minutes … just until Jack came out of the shower. Then she would make him hers again.

  He’d soon forget the other woman.

  19

  Jack lathered himself vigorously in the shower, scrubbing his skin to cleanse it of the stink of the hold. His Glock was wrapped in a towel on a shelf within easy reach. His eyes repeatedly wandered to the outline of the door, hazily visible through the light blue translucency of the shower curtain. His mind’s eye kept replaying a variation on the shower scene from Psycho. Only here it wasn’t Norman Bates in drag coming in and slashing away with a knife—it was the Mother rakosh using the built-in knives of her taloned hands.

  He rinsed quickly and stepped out to towel off.

  Everything was okay in Queens. A call to Gia while Kolabati was in the shower had confirmed that Vicky was safe and asleep. Now he could get on with business here.

  Back in the bedroom he found Kolabati sound asleep. He grabbed some fresh clothes and studied her sleeping face as he dressed. She looked different in repose. The sensuousness was gone, replaced by a touching innocence.

  Jack pulled the sheet up over her shoulder. He liked her. She was lively, she was fun, she was exotic. Her sexual skills and appetite were unparalleled in his experience. And she seemed to find things in him she truly admired. They had the basis for a long relationship. But …

  The eternal but.

  … despite the intimacies they’d shared, he knew he was not for her. She would want more of him than he was willing to give. And he knew he would never feel for her what he felt for Gia.

  Closing the bedroom door behind him, Jack went into the front room and prepared to wait for Kusum. He pulled on a T-shirt and slacks, white socks and tennis shoes—he wanted to be ready to move at an instant’s notice. He put an extra handful of hollow point bullets in his right front pocket and, on impulse, stuck the remaining lighter in the left. He set his wingback chair by the front window and faced the door. He pulled the matching hassock up and seated himself with the Glock in his lap.